I like Joe Bennett's writing. So, even though the justification for this book looks spurious to me, I read it with delight.
Supposedly, after 15 years in New Zealand, Bennett suddenly wondered what a Brit like him was doing here, polished up his hitching thumb and hit the road to find
out.
In search of the real New Zealand, he did a sweep round the bottom two-thirds of the South Island (no time for Nelson or Marlborough, sorry) and another sweep round the North Island (chickening out at one stage and hiring a car).
Along the way he visits a few tourist attractions, airs a few prejudices (bad spelling, theme pubs, religion, group tours, the nanny state), insults a few cities (poor old Palmerston North), ignores Auckland, fulfils an ambition of getting to Cape Reinga and meets a lot of interesting people.
Presumably he must have liked what he found because by the book's end he has apparently decided to get another dog and hang around a bit longer. Yeah, right.
Whatever Bennett says, I'm afraid this does not read like a journey of discovery deep into the psyche, either of New Zealand or of Joe Bennett.
It reads like a good excuse for going on a giant pub crawl, stopping at bars en route to sup a few beers and have hilarious conversations with locals. Well, who can blame him for that? It sounds like fun. It's certainly fun to read. I laughed out loud several times. But it's not a great travel book.
